


Stop Pretending Otherwise

by Twice_before_Friday



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bromance, Choking, Friendship, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Team Bonding, Temporary Muteness, respiratory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday
Summary: Millennium High School. I know who the killer is.JT huffs out a breath and considers going back to bed, pretending he never got the text in the first place. It was sent to a group chat with Gil and Dani, and he figures one of them is bound to answer, but before his screen even has a chance to time out, he's already ruled that out as an option.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel
Comments: 26
Kudos: 118
Collections: Prodigal Son Holidays Fic Exchange





	Stop Pretending Otherwise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cornerofmadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/gifts).



> Oh, cornerofmadness, I wish I could've fulfilled the first prompt on your list, but that would have turned into something massive and time was not on my side. Thankfully, you provided a bunch of amazing prompts and I hope this is what you were looking for!!
> 
> Thanks for always providing the fandom with great content!

The text comes late enough that JT knows something is wrong before he even picks up his phone. 

"Malcolm?" Tally asks, shifting awkwardly in bed, trying to find a comfortable position when her rounded belly keeps her from laying on her stomach like she wants to. 

The fact that she recognizes the profiler's ringtone doesn't really come as a surprise to JT. The kid texts like he talks: non-stop.

"Mmhmm." JT fumbles on the nightstand for his phone, scowling at the screen as it nearly blinds him in the darkness of the room.

 _1:26am_ , the clock on his lockscreen informs him before he unlocks his phone and pulls up the text.

"Dude needs to learn texting etiquette," JT grumbles as he waits for his eyes to adjust enough that he can actually read the words on his screen. Even with his brightness set to twenty-five percent, it still takes a moment and a whole lot of blinking.

He doesn't even need to look at Tally to see the smirk she's shooting his way, but he very purposefully ignores it as he pulls up the message.

_Millennium High School. I know who the killer is._

JT huffs out a breath and considers going back to bed, pretending he never got the text in the first place. It was sent to a group chat with Gil and Dani, and he figures one of them is bound to answer, but before his screen even has a chance to time out, he's already ruled that out as an option.

Another huff as he pushes himself up and swings his legs off the bed.

"You trying to blow the house down, hon?" Tally murmurs, but even with her face half buried in her pillow he can hear her impish smile.

"I swear, one of these days I'm gonna let the bad guys take him, just to see if they give him back after a day or two," he grumbles as he grabs a pair of pants off of the chair in the corner and pulls them on. "Maybe they'd even turn themselves in just to get away from his motor mouth."

"I'm not sure who you think you're fooling." Tally's laughter bounces through the room as she rolls over once again.

He doesn't even understand how she can be so chipper in the middle of the night.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he shoots back. He grabs a button-down from the closet using his phone to light up the space, trying to keep the bedroom dim in hopes that Tally can get back to sleep once he's gone.

A rustle behind him and the flick of the bedside lamp tells him that may be wishful thinking on his part. Tally hasn't been sleeping all that well since she hit thirty-eight weeks or so, as constant trips to the bathroom and flipping from side to side as her hips start to ache keeps her from getting more than an hour or two at a time.

"Of course you don't," Tally deadpans. 

When he turns back to the bed, fully dressed with the exception of his shoes, she's hauling herself up, propping a few of the four hundred or so pillows that live on their bed behind her back.

"Hon, you need to get some sleep," JT sighs as he walks over to her, perching himself on the edge of the bed next to her hip. His hand lands on her baby bump without conscious thought, as it always does. "You both do."

"We will," she smiles, wrapping her hands over his where it's resting warm on her belly. "And you need to go help Malcolm."

"I swear, I'm gonna block his number after tonight," JT scowls, reluctant to pull his hand away. Reluctant to leave his family alone in the middle of the night.

"Oh, hush," Tally chuckles, lifting his hand up and pressing it to her lips before she drops it back in his own lap, like she knows how difficult it was going to be for him to pull it away on his own. "You can bellyache about him all you want, but I know you care about him."

"Take it back," JT grimaces, but the effect is ruined by the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips.

Tally is still smiling softly as she says, "That boy is family the same way Gil and Dani are. You might as well stop pretending otherwise at this point."

JT harrumphs and pushes to his feet, deciding he'll admit to no such thing. 

With a quick stop at the gun safe to grab his badge and sidearm, he's ready to go and casts one last glance over to the woman he loves and the son or daughter that's keeping safe in her belly.

"I love you," he says as he walks to the door. "Try and get some sleep."

"And you bring that boy home safely and catch yourself a killer," Tally calls out to him as he walks down the hall to the front door, stopping to slip on his shoes and jacket.

"Maybe I'll just kill him myself and save us all the next late night rescue message," JT grumbles quietly as he settles his jacket in place.

Not quietly enough, apparently. Not for Tally's superhuman hearing.

"I heard that," she calls, her laughter bouncing down the hall. "And you know you'd miss him."

That woman is right more often than he'd care to admit, so he's certainly not going to give her the satisfaction of agreeing with her, even if, deep down, he knows she's not wrong. So he merely grunts a response and heads out the door, locking up behind himself and hoping she'll at least try to go back to sleep.

The drive is quick and before he knows it, he's pulling into the empty lot of the school. His is the only car there, which means Gil and Dani haven't arrived yet, but the fact that Malcolm isn't out there waiting for one of them sets off a series of alarm bells in his head that are impossible to ignore.

He debates about waiting for back-up — he knows the team won't be far behind — but he has a gut feeling that something is wrong and he's learned not to ignore his instincts. Which is why, at nearly two o'clock in the morning, he's sneaking into a school that should be locked down for the night. 

The front door is propped open with a rock and JT makes sure to leave it in place so Gil and Dani can make their way in once they arrive. After that, it's a matter of walking the halls as quietly as he can, gun at the ready in front of him as he looks for the cause of this 2am wake-up call.

It doesn't take long to pinpoint Malcolm's exact location.

As he walks past the gymnasium, sounds of a struggle come floating through the open door; feet banging against the floor, cut off shouts, a choking, spluttering sound that makes the little hairs on the back of JT's neck stand on end.

And the sight that greets him as he rushes into the gym only confirms his worst fears.

At the side of the room is the door to what JT expects is some sort of utility or custodial closet, thrown open and casting a cool light into the otherwise dim gymnasium. Just outside the open door, in the brightest swath of light spilling onto the hardwood floor, Bright is fighting for his life.

He's flat on his back, arms pinned to his sides by the man that's sitting on his stomach, thick legs bracketing the lanky profiler, kneeling hard on his forearms as Bright struggles to get free. While Malcolm's legs kick out and bounce off the wood, trying to displace the weight on top of him, the man holds Malcolm's jaw in a vice-like grip, forcing his mouth open as he pours some sort of industrial cleaner down his throat.

As spacious as the room is, the smell of bleach is nearly overwhelming as JT runs across the space, yelling, "NYPD! Put your hands up!"

Malcolm continues to thrash beneath the man, bleach splashing over his face as he tries to jerk his head to the side, to cough up the liquid that he's inhaling and swallowing, keeping his eyes closed tight against the cleaner as it runs over his face and pools in his eye sockets.

Of course the fucker makes no move to stop.

JT makes full use of his momentum as he brings his foot up and slams it into the man's arm, knocking him off of Malcolm, who immediately curls up on his side, coughing and hacking and letting the cleaner flow from his mouth and nose and drip from his skin.

JT is quick in slapping the cuffs on the assailant, keeping him face down on the floor as he holsters his weapon and rushes to Malcolm's side.

"Bright!" JT keeps a wary eye on their probable-murderer as he drops to his knees next to Malcolm, unsure of how he can help as Bright continues to cough so hard he ends up heaving.

Fortunately, Gil and Dani choose that moment to burst through the door, guns raised as they take in the scene in front of them.

"What the hell happened?" Gil nearly shouts as he drops next to JT. 

Dani, meanwhile, moves to their suspect, eyeing Malcolm with an almost tangible concern as she hauls the handcuffed man to his feet, not even attempting to be gentle with him.

JT ignores the question for the moment as he calls for an ambulance to their location, explaining to dispatch that they have an officer down after being forced to drink and inhale a bleach-type substance. 

"What?" Dani asks in disbelief as she listens to JT's commentary, fear and repulsion twisting her features. Gil looks equally as disturbed as he rubs soothing circles over Malcolm's back.

"Hang in there, kid," Gil says quietly. The coughing is settling into occasional barks between a wheezing pull of air that's painful to even hear, but Malcolm still hasn't opened his eyes and JT realizes that the fumes are probably still burning him.

As dispatch patches him through to the poison control center, JT thumbs his phone to speaker and drops it on the floor, giving Gil a brief run-down of what happened while the call transfers. And then he's pushing to his feet and running out of the gym while Gil calls after him, clearly confused as to where he's going.

He remembers seeing a vending machine in the hall outside the gym and pulls his wallet out as he runs. In a matter of seconds, he has two bottles of water in hand and is running back to Malcolm, uncapping one of the bottles as he goes.

"I'm gonna pour some water over your eyes, bro," JT warns, knowing Malcolm can't see the bottles in his hand and won't know it's coming. He receives a small nod in response and JT waits for him to turn his face towards the ceiling before he starts to pour the water over Malcolm's face, starting with his eyes but making sure to get all of his skin, hoping to rinse the bleach away before it can do any severe damage.

Gil's already talking to the poison control rep, filling them in on the situation.

"Do _not_ induce vomiting," the woman's voice cuts loud and clear through the speaker when Gil finishes describing the situation. "Keep him on his side, and if possible, have him rinse out his mouth with fresh water. Then help him to take small sips of water or milk to dilute the chemicals that he's ingested."

JT slips one hand beneath Malcolm's head and guides the water bottle to his lips. "Swish and spit," he says as he tips the liquid into Malcolm's mouth. 

Malcolm follows the directions immediately and they repeat the action once more to use up the last of the water in the first bottle.

JT prays that the pink, frothy tinge to the liquid Malcolm spits out is merely a trick of the light and not what he actually thinks it is.

He lowers Malcolm's head gently to the floor as he drops the first bottle and cracks open the second. "Gonna rinse your eyes once more," JT says as Malcolm begins to cough again, knowing Malcolm won't be able to manage to drink until he has that under control.

Malcolm still hasn't opened his eyes, but after the second rinse, he doesn't seem to be keeping them close quite so tightly, either, and JT can only hope that means the fumes are dissipating.

While he's aware of Gil's continued conversation on the phone, aware of Dani handing off their suspect to the uniformed officer that arrives soon after, his focus is entirely on Malcolm and the way his face is contorted in pain as he tries to get his breathing under control. The fact that he hasn't said a word since JT arrived isn't sitting well, either.

As soon as he's stopped coughing, JT cradles his head once again, levering him upright enough to manage small sips at the water. He holds the bottle to Malcolm's lips, making sure that only a small stream flows into his mouth. The last thing the poor kid needs is to aspirate on the water, though JT wonders, just for a moment, if that might also dilute any of the bleach that obviously found its way into his lungs.

Surprisingly, Malcolm actually manages to drink a fair amount of the water by the time the paramedics arrive on scene.

"Hey man, the paramedics are here," JT says as two EMTs rush through the door with a stretcher rolling between them. "You're gonna be okay."

The light press of Malcolm's fingers on his hand — the only response Malcolm seems capable of providing just now — only serves to increase the strange feeling of protectiveness that's coursing through JT's veins, pumping alongside the adrenaline that's washing through him. Adrenaline that he already knows is about to fade away and leave him feeling shaky and slightly ill.

The paramedics are fast and efficient, and before JT has even processed what's happening, they're loading him on the stretcher and preparing to take him away. 

"JT, Powell, get our guy in an interrogation room and find out what the hell happened here and how the hell he's connected to our investigation," Gil orders, looking a bizarre combination of furious, worried, and confused. JT can't blame him. They didn't even have a suspect when they left the precinct less than half a dozen hours ago. How Bright managed to not only identify their killer, but track him down to a high school in the middle of the night is certainly leaving JT with a lot of questions, too.

"Of course," Dani agrees immediately, but her eyes are still on Malcolm as the paramedics raise the stretcher up to its full height and drop their medical bag between his feet.

"Keep us posted?" JT asks, surprised by just how worried he is about the quirky little shit.

Gil nods brusquely and hurries to follow the paramedics as they wheel Malcolm away.

And suddenly, JT and Dani are alone in the gym, pools of bleach and water surrounding them in the dimly lit room, wondering how the hell things ended up the way they did.

"You good?" Dani asks quietly. Her voice still seems to echo through the space. Or maybe just through his head.

He nods vacantly for a moment before he says, "Yeah. Yeah I'm good." He just hopes that Malcolm is, too. "Let's go pin this guy for murder."

"And attempted murder," Dani says, the words weighted in a way that makes JT's chest feel uncomfortably tight. The fact that Bright isn't just another body on their killer’s already impressive kill list is little more than a miracle, but it was near enough that JT is uneasy with just how close they came to losing him.

The next ten hours or so are spent in and out of the interrogation room, working to get their suspect to confess. It's a long and difficult process, considering they don't even know how he's connected to the six bodies that were discovered over the last week.

The only person that knows is still at the hospital. 

Thankfully, Gil had sent a text early in the morning to let them know that Malcolm received no life threatening injuries. Apparently the amount of bleach he swallowed wasn't enough for the poison to be a serious concern to his health. More concerning was the bleach that he inhaled while trying to breathe around the flood of liquid. According to Gil, his respiratory tract definitely sustained some damage, though nothing that wouldn't heal in time.

Once they received news that Malcolm was going to be fine, eventually, focusing on the case became a hell of a lot easier. JT grilled the man — Michael Favreau, according to his driver's license — for hours, trying to obtain a confession but the man remained resolutely silent.

It's not until mid afternoon as JT is coming out of the interrogation room, empty handed yet again, that the day goes from bad to downright weird. As he's walking back to his desk, he catches sight of Gil and Malcolm walking into the station. 

Malcolm looks awful.

Gil looks pissed.

JT fully understands both demeanors.

"What the hell, man?" JT steps in front of Malcolm as they make their way to Gil's office.

Malcolm — looking even smaller than usual in the sweatpants and sweatshirt that Gil keeps in his trunk for emergencies — looks like he's damn near ready to collapse and JT feels almost bad about stopping his progress.

Almost.

Because Bright shouldn't be there at all. He should be in the goddamn hospital, and the almost pleading look in his eyes tells JT that he's well aware of the fact.

He looks even worse close up than he did from across the room. The skin on his face is angry and splotchy, but as uncomfortable as it looks, it has _nothing_ on his eyes. Rimmed red and puffy around the lids, and with the sclera so irritated that there's not a trace of white left visible, they're downright painful to look at.

JT looks up to Gil for an explanation when Malcolm remains silent, receiving a half-resigned/half-exasperated shrug in response. "He's determined to give his statement while everything is fresh in his mind."

Of course he is.

JT's about to give him shit, to insist that it could wait until tomorrow, or that one of them could've taken his statement at the hospital or at his loft, when he looks down at the profiler and the words die on his tongue.

There's a nearly inaudible wheeze spilling from Malcolm's lips with each laboured breath, and the kid is actually holding onto the nearest cubicle wall to keep himself upright.

"For fuck's sake, dude," JT grumbles and steps forward, wrapping and arm around Malcolm and practically dragging him to Gil's office. 

The fact that Malcolm is too weak to protest in any way at all is a testament to just how rough he's feeling. It even prompts JT to be slightly more gentle than he'd originally intended when he lowers him down onto the couch.

"You should be in the hospital, you know that, right?" JT asks as Malcolm leans back with a quiet sigh that JT can't quite discern as pained or relieved.

"Yeah, he can't talk," Gil says as he follows them in and seats himself rather aggressively at his desk, scrubbing his hand roughly over his goatee. "Apparently, he decided the irritation to his lungs wasn't severe enough to keep him in the hospital," Gil shoots a frustrated look at Malcolm as he speaks, but Malcolm currently has his eyes closed as he rests his head against the couch cushion. "But there's enough damage to his vocal cords that he's not gonna be able talk for a week or so."

There are about a dozen jokes fighting their way to the tip of JT's tongue, but the damn kid looks so pitiful that he lets them all fade away unspoken.

"He checked himself out AMA," Gil adds, as if JT hadn't already figured that out. "And when I tried to take him home, he sent me a text stubbornly stating that he'd just call a cab and follow me in.

The man's exasperation is practically palpable, radiating off him in waves, and JT knows that it's solely the product of his concern for the kid who's like a son to him. And JT suddenly understands that feeling more than he'd care to admit. JT himself is feeling a little frustrated about Malcolm's refusal to actually take care of himself and he wonders if this is what it's like to have a kid brother.

He shakes _that_ thought from his mind immediately.

"Fine," JT says after a moment of thought, and Malcolm actually drags his eyes open at the single word. "We'll take your statement and then I'm taking you home. And I swear, man, if you even _try_ to come back here, I'll arrest your skinny ass for...something...and lock you in a holding cell until you get a good night's sleep. Got it?"

Malcolm actually has the nerve to smile, weak though it may be, and JT rethinks his whole stance on letting the stubborn fool get his way in the first place. 

What's done is done, though.

Malcolm writes out his statement while JT sits beside him, keeping an eye on the kid to make sure he doesn't pass out or anything, while also reading over his shoulder to find out how the hell Michael Favreau is tied to their homicide investigation. 

It's an enlightening experience. The leaps that Malcolm made, the puzzle pieces that he fitted together to discover who the killer was are actually kind of brilliant and JT can't help but be impressed, even if he's not quite ready to say that out loud.

By the time Malcolm finishes and the scratching of his pen suddenly goes silent in the room, Gil is asleep in his chair, his cheek propped on his fist in a way that looks both uncomfortable and precarious, but JT doesn't have the heart to wake him. All of them need to head home and sleep for the next fourteen hours or so.

"Can you hang out here for a few minutes while I sort this out?" JT asks quietly as he takes the statement from Malcolm’s hands, frowning at the tremor that makes the paper shake but leaving it unremarked upon when he senses Malcolm's embarrassment. Malcolm nods and JT pushes to his feet, turning back to look at Malcolm as he says, "Don't even think about getting up from this couch."

The way Malcolm lets his head fall back, lets his eyes slide shut, leads JT to believe he's not going anywhere anytime soon.

With all the information Malcolm provided in his statement, it takes less than an hour to pull a confession from Michael, and once that's done, he and Dani hand the case off so they can finally head home.

"I'm surprised Gil brought him in," Dani says as she shrugs her jacket on and smothers a yawn in the leather.

"Yeah, dude didn't give him much of a choice," JT says as he walks to his own desk to grab his coat. Dani follows his gaze to Gil's office, finding both men exactly how he'd left them an hour ago.

Dani snickers at the sight but there's still worry buried beneath the sudden mirth.

"Rock, paper, scissors for who takes who?" Dani asks with a smirk, knowing that Malcolm needs a ride home and Gil is really in no fit state to drive at this point.

"Nah," JT says as he looks at Malcolm's sleeping form, pale and tiny in Gil's oversized clothes. "Gil's practically on your way home. You take him, I'll take Mr. Reckless."

He gets an arched eyebrow and a considering look for the comment. "You do realize we all know you care, right? You can totally drop the tough guy act."

"You been talking with Tally?" JT grumbles and heads to Gil's office only to be stopped by Dani's hand on his arm just outside the door.

"It's okay that you were scared for him, you know that, right? I was, too," she says quietly enough that no passing officers will overhear their conversation. "So was Gil, obviously."

They both look through the window at their sleeping Lieutenant. Middle of the night calls are nothing new and Gil never ends up asleep at his desk. But worrying about Malcolm is _draining_. More than chasing after any criminal ever could be, and it's clear that Gil is emotionally wrung out after everything that happened.

Dani doesn't push the point, just raps lightly on the doorframe to give both men a few seconds to wake up and get their bearings before Dani and JT head into the office.

"Alright," Dani says with a smile that's tinged with her own exhaustion. "I think that's enough beauty-sleep for you both. Let's go. Gil, you're with me."

"The case?" Gil says, rubbing both hands vigorously over his face and looking just a little guilty as he pulls them away.

"Case closed," Dani assures him as she grabs Gil's coat and holds it out to him. "JT wrangled a full confession. Now stop asking questions. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner all of us can collapse into bed for a few days."

"I can drive myself," Gil objects, standing up and sliding his coat on. "Besides, I need to take Bright home."

Malcolm is still sitting on the couch, blinking owlishly up at them and looking like he's about to fall right back asleep. JT isn't even sure if he's caught up to the conversation that's happening around him.

"I'm taking Bright," JT volunteers, then fixes Malcolm with a stern gaze. "We figure he'll be less likely to run off that way."

The tiny shrug is practically an agreement and JT almost, _almost_ , smiles. 

"Come on, dude," JT says, laying a steadying hand on Malcolm's bicep as he hauls himself unsteadily to his feet. 

Gil grabs a small paper bag with a pharmacy logo on the front off his desk and passes it over to JT. "He'll be pretty good about taking most of them, but can you make sure he takes a painkiller before you leave?"

Malcolm's expression catches somewhere between abashed and offended and JT can't help the chuckle that escapes his lips. Which only serves to aim the same look in his direction.

Which only makes him laugh harder.

He reaches out and takes the bag from Gil with a nod, a promise to make sure that Malcolm, at the very least, takes his next round of meds.

Gil skirts around his desk and makes his way to Malcolm, pulling him into a gentle hug and quietly pleading, "Please take care of yourself, kid." When Gil pulls back, leaving a comforting hand on Malcolm's shoulder as he slouches down to look him in the eye, he adds a little more firmly, "And I don't want to see you here tomorrow. Call if you need anything, but I don't want you stepping foot in this precinct."

JT knows Malcolm must be feeling especially terrible when he actually agrees with a weary nod. 

The four of them make their way out of the station together, moving a little slower than usual to keep to Bright's lethargic pace, but it isn't long before they're heading separate ways on the sidewalk in front of the precinct. As JT and Malcolm head north to JT's car, the sound of Malcolm's breathing becomes painfully laboured, to the point where JT actually spins and stops him with a hand on his chest.

"Dude, you good?" he asks, refusing to let go when Malcolm merely nods and tries to press on. "I can go get the car and bring it back." 

The car is only about a block and a half away, but it sounds like Malcolm may not have that much energy or oxygen left in him. Malcolm shakes his head resolutely and JT huffs at the determination on the man's face. If JT wasn't concerned about Bright disappearing if he leaves him alone, he'd go get the car and circle back for him, but he really is worried that Malcolm would just hail a cab and be gone before he gets back.

As a compromise, he backs Malcolm up to the set of concrete stairs only a few paces back, and guides him to sit on one of the steps. Malcolm, of course, can't object, and JT has a sudden realization that there may actually be a bright side to this whole thing.

"Bro, you sound like a pack-a-day smoker and you're paler than your usual shade of pasty," JT explains at Malcolm's look of utter confusion. "Just...take five."

It bothers JT to see Malcolm like this, and, as he stands there looking down at the man that started off as a massive pain in his ass but somehow wormed his way into his heart, JT knows that Tally and Dani are right. Bright is family now.

And JT cares about him.

"Look," JT says, tugging awkwardly at the hem of his jacket. Heart-to-heart conversations have never been his specialty. He's the first to admit that he sucks at them, actually. Frankly, he doesn't know how he ever convinced Tally to end up marrying him. 

But. 

He's willing to try.

"We all just want you to take care of yourself, man," JT says, purposefully ignoring the slightly shocked look on Malcolm's face. "And not just right now while you're healing. Well, that too."

Malcolm is looking at him like he suddenly grew a second head, but since he can't actually interrupt, JT just keeps talking.

"When I walked into that gym this morning…" JT cuts himself off. He doesn't particularly want to dwell on the fear that turned his blood cold and sent his heart leaping into his throat. "Calling for backup is only helpful if you actually wait for it. You have a team now. You don't have to do that shit alone anymore."

It looks to JT as if Malcolm is actually considering his words, which he counts as a win.

He's also regained a little of the colour he'd lost on the short walk from Gil's office. Things seem to be looking up.

"We want you safe, man," JT says, knowing that a conversation like this is probably never going to happen again so he'd better say what he needs to say before they continue to the car. "I just wish you meant as much to yourself as you do to the rest of us."

Malcolm's mouth opens and closes, but it doesn't look like he knows exactly what he wants to say, if he had the ability to speak at all.

JT takes pity on him and reaches out. "Come on. Let's get you home."

They move slowly but make it to JT's car without any further issues and soon they're on their way to Malcolm's loft. It takes approximately three blocks before Malcolm is asleep, his head resting against the passenger window.

JT takes the scenic route.

He even circles the block a few times once he finally makes it to Malcolm's street.

Eventually, he parks the car. He intends to just pull out his phone and waste some time while he lets Malcolm sleep a little longer, but as soon as he kills the engine, Malcolm jerks awake, obviously startled.

"Hey," JT says quietly, "we're here. You need a minute?"

Malcolm offers a small smile and a mild shake of his head. And then he attempts to signal that JT doesn't need to come up, that he'll be fine on his own. 

He's surprisingly good at charades. 

JT, however, pretends he doesn't understand and reaches for the handle of the door, pushing himself from the car before Malcolm even has a chance to reach out and try to stop him. 

Malcolm manages to scramble out of the car and attempts to explain once again, but JT just walks to the door and waits expectantly for Malcolm to make his way over, keeping a close eye on him to ensure he's not going to keel over in the middle of the sidewalk.

JT mastered the art of appearing immovable years ago, and by the time Malcolm makes it to the door, he's projecting the look so decisively that Malcolm realizes quite quickly that JT will be accompanying him up whether he likes it or not. It doesn't take long after that before Malcolm's opening the door to the loft and leading them into the small lobby just inside.

Even as the door closes behind them, blocking out the grey-tinged light of the overcast day, JT would swear he can see the colour drain from Malcolm's face as he looks at the stairs leading up to his loft. 

A dozen thoughts flit through JT's mind. He could pick the kid up and carry him to his apartment — he's scrawny enough that it wouldn't be difficult, but he suspects Malcolm would never allow it. He could take him home to his place and set him up on the sofabed — at least JT and Tally's apartment has a rickety old elevator to get Malcolm upstairs, but he's pretty sure Malcolm's more likely to rest in his own bed. He debates the merits of just taking him back to the hospital — he could simply flash a badge and have Malcolm handcuffed to the bed, forced to get the care he so clearly needs.

These thoughts and so many others are entertained and dismissed in the span of a few heartbeats. 

"We'll take it slow," JT assures Malcolm as he slips a hand around his waist and waits for Malcolm to take the first step. There's a voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Tally, tutting at how thin Bright is beneath his designer suits. Kid needs to eat something besides licorice and dumdums, he thinks to himself.

Progress is slow and includes a break on the second landing to allow Malcolm to catch his breath, but they get there eventually.

By the time they make it to his door, Malcolm is trembling so bad that he can't manage to get the key in the lock. JT takes over without a word, unlocking the door and swinging it open before leading Malcolm in.

The plan is to lead him to the couch, get him settled while JT gets him glass of water to down his pills, but Malcolm nudges them towards the stairs that lead up to his office and practically collapses onto one of the steps.

"Dude, are you okay?" JT asks, crouching down in front of him as Malcolm crosses his arms over his knees and then cradles his head in his arms. It's a show of weakness that JT knows Malcolm would never normally allow, and it leaves JT feeling uneasy and rethinking the 'cuffing him to a hospital bed' plan from earlier.

It takes a second, but Malcolm flashes him an a-ok sign without ever even lifting his head.

JT huffs a breath, but it actually makes him feel a bit better. If Malcolm is well enough to deliver his standard, "I'm fine," — even if it needs to be altered slightly due to his current state — then he can't be in as rough a shape as JT originally expected.

"Hang tight, man." JT straightens up and heads to the kitchen opening and closing a few cupboards before he finds a glass to fill halfway with water. He pulls the bag of prescriptions from his pocket and gives the labels a cursory glance, recognizing the name of the painkiller as soon as he sees it. 

One pill every four hours.

JT suspects it's been far more than four hours since Malcolm last took something.

He heads back to Malcolm with the glass and the tablet, sitting beside him on the step. "Hey," he says when Malcolm doesn't stir. "You need to take this."

For all that Malcolm tries to be discreet as he wipes the tear tracks from his cheek, JT still sees the movement for what it is and his heart goes out to him. He can only imagine how painful his throat and lungs must feel after being burned with the caustic agent.

And it must be bad, because Malcolm takes the pill from him without argument, holding it to his lips with a look of dread before popping it in his mouth and following it with a mouthful of water.

JT actually cringes at how painful it looks for Malcolm to swallow the small pill.

When it becomes clear that Malcolm doesn't plan to drink anymore, JT takes the glass from his trembling hand before he has a chance to drop it. He sets it on the stairs behind them, ensuring it won't get tipped over, and then he quietly waits as Malcolm drops his head back onto his arms.

And waits.

It takes nearly half an hour before Malcolm finally stirs.

"Better?" JT asks as Malcolm slowly rolls himself upright. 

The lines of tension that had been creasing his face have smoothed out, just a little, a clear sign that the painkiller is serving its purpose. But now there's a glassy sheen to his eyes that speaks to his exhaustion and his near desperate need for sleep.

"You need to sleep, man," JT says quietly. He doesn't even give Malcolm a chance to disagree, pushing to his feet and dragging Malcolm along with him. He half-carries him to the bed, setting him gently on the edge before taking a step back. 

Malcolm mouths a thank you and JT knows he's expecting him to leave now, but something is telling JT to stick around and he's not about to start ignoring that feeling now. 

"Don't mention it," he says, doing his best not to let his gaze fall on the restrains that lie on the mattress next to Malcolm's hip. "I'm, uh. I'm gonna check out that ridiculously massive TV of yours." Malcolm's eyebrows draw in and JT can already see the protest forming on his lips, but he talks over the emphatic hand gestures that Malcolm turns to when the words won't come. "Shut up and get some sleep, man."

He gives Malcolm's shoulder a quick squeeze before he turns away, tempering the harsh words so Malcolm doesn't think he's done something wrong. The thing is, he still feels a little bad about how tough he was on Bright when he first started working with the team. He saw how hard Malcolm was trying and he barely even gave him the time of day. They've long since grown past that, but JT knows exactly how easy it is for Malcolm to backside into old behaviours and mindsets and he doesn't want him to think they're going back to how things were back then.

 _He_ doesn't want to go back to how things were back then.

A hesitant nod is confirmation that they're on the same page and soon enough Malcolm is settled in bed while JT sprawls out on the couch, mindlessly flipping through hundreds of channels and not finding a single thing to watch. He shoots Tally a text to let her know what's up and check in on how she's doing, feeling a twinge of regret about not being home with her, but Tally understands, as she always does, telling him to stay as long as Malcolm needs him.

He keeps the volume on the TV low enough that it won't disturb Malcolm, but the quiet hum soon lulls JT himself into an unexpected slumber, his head falling heavy on the back of the leather sofa.

His own dreams are unsettling.

Malcolm's are infinitely worse.

A hoarse, grating scream pulls him from his sleep sometime later and JT is on his feet before his eyes are even open. It takes less than a second for his mind to kick into gear — years of army training making it second nature to be fully aware of his surroundings at all times — and he finds himself running towards Bright's bed while the tail end of the scream is still bouncing off the walls and echoing through the loft.

"Bright!" JT calls as he moves, seeing the man in question sitting ramrod straight in bed, eyes wide and panicked as he grasps at his throat with clawing hands. "Bright, you're okay. You're safe."

He approaches slowly as he nears the last few feet of the bed, unsure if Malcolm is awake or in the midst of a night terror. He has enough experience with PTSD to know that things can go from bad to worse in the blink of an eye if not approached with caution.

Having that knowledge, knowing that he's doing what's best for them both, doesn't make his heart ache any less as he watches Malcolm claw at his throat and chest, tiny inarticulate sounds escaping his mouth as tries, and fails, to speak.

To call for help.

"Bright," JT says calmly as his legs hit the side of the mattress. He reaches out slowly, tentatively wrapping his fingers around Malcolm's wrists and pulling them away from his throat before he can do any more damage than the bright red, vicious-looking scrapes that he's already inflicted on himself. Malcolm struggles against the hold hard enough that JT winds up kneeling on the bed, holding Malcolm's hands against his chest to keep him from breaking the hold. "Malcolm, you're safe. Everything is okay."

"JT?" It's little more than a rasp and it hurts to even hear it, but it lets JT know that Malcolm is back with him, and the relief is nearly overwhelming. 

"Yeah, man," JT says, releasing one of his hands and wrapping an arm around Malcolm, tugging him against him in an uncertain embrace. JT isn't sure they've ever even shaken hands. He's positive he's never hugged the man. But the way Bright's trembling has JT's protective instincts stoked and he just wants to make it better somehow.

The longer JT holds him, though, the more apparent Malcolm's breathing issues become. There's a disconcerting rattling that's growing louder with each strained breath and JT can actually _hear_ his throat closing tighter, swelling up.

The screaming clearly did him no favours.

When JT pulls back and looks Malcolm over, he's disturbed to find Malcolm's skin looking ashen, and he'd swear there's even a blue tinge to the kid's lips.

"Shit," JT says, not even bothering to run for his own phone. He picks up Malcolm's from the night stand, pressing Malcolm's thumb to the screen to unlock it and then dialing 9-1-1.

JT gives a rundown to the dispatcher, despising the fact that they're having to do this twice in one day.

"Hang in there," JT urges as he maneuvers Malcolm into recovery position. "Help is coming. I just gotta buzz them in."

But as he gets to his feet, Malcolm's hand darts out and grabs hold of his wrists, tugging him back with a pleading look in his eyes that breaks JT's heart to see. Malcolm's lips move, quite clearly asking for _something_ , but nothing outside of the harsh wheeze makes it out.

Sometimes Malcolm's non-stop talking drives JT nuts, but after everything that's happened today, he’d give anything to hear Bright prattling on again right about now.

It takes a moment, the grip around his wrist tightening as he tries to pull his arm back, but JT does manage to figure out exactly what Bright wants. Or rather, doesn't want.

He doesn't want to be alone.

So JT sits on the edge of the bed and lays his free hand over Malcolm's, willing to wait until he hears the tell-tale sound of sirens filling the air before he gets up. Thankfully, that only takes a few minutes. 

"I'll be back before you know it, bro," JT says, making sure to look Malcolm in the eye to assure him of that fact as he slowly peels Malcolm's fingers back from his wrist. He can feel the panic spilling from Malcolm in torrents and hates to leave him, but he knows the best thing he can possibly do for him is to get the paramedics to him ASAP. "I promise."

The wheeze that's been filling the space between them is getting progressively weaker and JT worries that Malcolm may stop breathing altogether if he doesn't get help soon. He doesn't wait for Malcolm's nod, just hurries to buzz the paramedics in and then pull open the door to Malcolm's loft for easy access. He's back at Malcolm's side before he can even hear the clatter of the paramedics as they make their way into the building.

He keeps a tight hold on Malcolm's hand, watching the way his eyelids flutter closed as the rise and fall of his chest steadily becomes more shallow. 

"Please hurry!" JT shouts when he hears the paramedics on the landing below. 

Bright doesn't even react.

As loath as he is to leave Malcolm's side, he immediately jumps to his feet and moves back to the foot of the bed as soon as the paramedics rush to his side.

It's like deja vu, watching the paramedics as they surround Malcolm, performing an evaluation to determine his injuries and act accordingly. Only this time, Bright is almost completely unresponsive.

And JT hates it.

He fills the medics in on what happened earlier that morning, giving them as much information as he can to help speed up whatever treatment plan they need to devise. 

"He should be in the hospital," one of the paramedics, a younger man that looks like he should probably still be in high school says as JT concludes his explanation.

"Yep," JT agrees easily. "But he'll check himself out AMA this time, too."

The older paramedic shoots him a knowing look, obviously having encountered the type before. "Let's just worry about getting him to the hospital right now," she says as she pulls out a syringe and vial from their med bag. "Injecting 60mg methylprednisolone," she says to her partner.

They continue to work on him, checking stats and strapping an oxygen mask over his face, but the effect of the steroid is almost immediate. Bright's entire body begins to relax, the strain on his face easing just a little as he begins to breathe easier. 

"The injection will help widen his airways and relieve the bronchospasm symptoms," the medic explains to JT as they pack up their bags and ready the stretcher for transport. "But we need to get him to the hospital for treatment before his symptoms progress."

JT is kicking himself for not having just taken Malcolm to the hospital earlier, angry at himself for letting Malcolm get his way when he knew better. As he follows the paramedics out the door, using Bright's keys to lock up after them, he vows to himself that he's not going to fall for that again next time.

Because he knows Malcolm well enough to know there _will_ be a next time.

He follows in his car behind the ambulance, blowing through red lights right along with them, using the hands free on his cellphone to call Gil as he goes and explain the situation. As much as he hates to wake the man up, he knows Gil will want to know what's going on, and fully expects him to show up at the hospital within the next half hour or so, despite how exhausted he obviously is.

Twenty-four minutes later, Gil is rushing in through the emergency room doors, his eyes locking onto JT's slouched form in the waiting room almost immediately.

"Any news?" Gil asks before he's halfway across the room, drawing the attention of half of the anxious forms in the waiting area. 

"Nothing yet." JT waits until Gil is seated next to him before he responds. "But the paramedics didn't seem super worried when they brought him in, so I think they got everything under control on the drive in."

They both settle into their seats, prepared for a long wait, but it's a surprisingly short time before a nurse comes out and leads them back to Malcolm's cubicle. He's asleep when they get there and neither JT nor Gil has any desire to wake him from his much needed rest.

The doctor, however, has no such compunction.

He wakes Bright to do a quick exam and fill them all in on his condition, which is blessedly less severe than it had seemed back at his loft. His respiratory tract and vocal cords are still inflamed and need time to heal. Unfortunately, the scream that ripped from him in his sleep aggravated the already sensitive tissues in his throat and lungs, causing the muscles around his bronchial tubes to spasm and cut off his air supply.

The doctor sternly recommends that Malcolm stay in the hospital for the next couple days while the swelling subsides so they can treat any symptoms as they occur.

"Oh, don't worry," JT says at the doctor's pronouncement, looking down at Malcolm with his best take-no-shit expression plastered on his face. "He's not going anywhere."

Malcolm stares at him defiantly for a moment — the obstinate look far less effective than usual, given how weak and splotchy and downright terrible he looks — but quickly slumps in defeat as he realizes it's a losing battle. 

And for once, Malcolm actually does as he's told.

He spends the next two and a half days in the hospital, with frequent visits from JT, Gil, and Dani (and even Edrisa and Ainsley, though _all_ of them make sure that Jessica never finds out about any of it) to make sure that he doesn't attempt to check himself out again.

By the time Malcolm is released from the hospital, the worst of the inflammation has passed and, with it, the danger. He still needs to let his vocal cords heal, unused, for a few more days, but outside of that, he's given the all clear to resume life as normal so long as he doesn't exert himself.

Which, of course, means he sweeps into their crime scene immediately after being discharged from the hospital.

'Really, dude?" JT asks as Malcolm crouches down to examine their latest victim.

In lieu of the answer that Malcolm can't actually give, Malcolm pulls a note from his inside pocket and hands it over with an outstretched arm, without ever taking his eyes from the desecrated corpse in front of him.

JT opens the letter with an arched eyebrow.

_Malcolm Bright is medically cleared to continue his work._

_(Including investigating crime scenes and examining bodies)_

It's signed with a flourish, but JT can just make out the doctor's name from back in the ER and he can't help the laughter that bursts free of his chest.

"How much did you have to pay the good doc for this?" JT asks as he hands the note to Gil. Malcolm waves off the comment but there's a smile threatening to break free on his face, even as he leans down and sniffs the victims lips. "Whatever, bro. Just wait for backup before you go running off after any suspects, cool?"

Malcolm nods once and then jumps to his feet, whipping out his phone as he moves and typing so fast that JT can barely make out the movement of his thumbs as they fly over the keyboard.

And within seconds, JT's phone — along with Gil and Dani's — are dinging in a flurry of text messages stating Malcolm's observations about the scene and the body.

"And here I thought today was gonna be quiet," JT grumbles, loud enough to ensure Malcolm can hear that he's only teasing. Honestly, he doesn't mind the text messages at all. After a handful of days with Malcolm unable to speak, JT finds himself missing the constant barrage of freakishly observant hypotheses and information overload.

Not that he'll ever admit it.

But as everyone begins to file out of the room to head back to the precinct, JT hangs back, reaching out and halting Malcolm's progress with a gentle hand. When they're the only two left in the room and there's no possibility of being overheard, JT makes the only declaration he's willing to make.

"It's good to have you back, man," JT says quietly, pausing for a beat before adding, "I'm glad you're okay."

A crooked smile graces Malcolm's face for a second, but then his expression turns serious as he looks up at JT and quietly croaks, "Thank you. For everything."

The blotchy patches on Malcolm's face may have faded away, and his eyes may have lost the blood-red tint that was colouring them earlier, but his voice still carries the tale-tale signs of his altercation with Michael Favreau, and JT does not love the reminder.

"Dude. Shut up," JT smirks, knocking his elbow against Malcolm's side. "Let me enjoy your silence while I can."

When Malcolm drops his head and smiles at the ground in the way he does when he's self-consciously pleased, JT matches it with his own grin, not even bothering to hide it when Malcolm finally looks up.

"Come on, man," JT says, jerking his head towards the door. Malcolm may drive him crazy at times, but he's pretty damn happy to have him back on the team. And he might finally be willing to admit that they're friends, that he cares about reckless little shit. At least, he's ready to admit it to himself. To Malcolm, he simply says, "Let's go catch a killer."

Unsurprisingly, Malcolm seems to understand everything he _doesn't_ say, too.

And that's just fine by JT.


End file.
